


Build Your Wings on the Way Down

by swooningtrash (littleoracle)



Series: Blades & Lyrium [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Demons, Eluvians, Fenris is in trouble, Hawke goes for a walk, Hawke needs a bath, Lothering, M/M, Mabari, Ostagar, The Fade, The Return of Frostbite the Mabari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:51:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoracle/pseuds/swooningtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke emerges from the Eluvian after Fenris sacrifices himself to save him. The mage finds himself on the road from Redcliffe and races to Lothering to find his love. But on the way, he discovers that he is not quite the same man who entered the Fade at Adamant and the road offers up old memories that he thought he had put behind him over a decade ago as Lothering burned.</p><p>Sequel/Companion to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5738554/chapters/13223971">When In Visions of the Fade</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything Old is New Again

**Author's Note:**

> Once again I'm flying by the seat of my pants at the start here. I know where I'm going, but we're going to discover what's up with Hawke as I write this thing. I'll get a clearer sense of it as it goes. Join me for the ride why dontcha?
> 
> And yes, I love comments. They're the only pay a fanfic author will get. It blows my mind that people think authors don't want comments, even if it's just "I liked this". 
> 
> Don't be shy. Say hello!
> 
> JULY 9, 2016: Not dead, I swear. My day job (I'm a web developer) ate my life for a bit. I'm currently rereading to remember where I left off and the voice of this thing. Last chapter is about 30% finished. Hope to have it done in the next week or two. Thanks for your patience!

Hawke fell out of the Eluvian and landed directly on his ass.  
  
Scrambling to his feet, he dove for the mirror, but before he could reach it there was an awful shattering sound and the mirror broke, shards of clear green glass clattering to the ground. Fenris was still trapped on the other side, likely at the mercy of the Desire demon that had held Hawke in thrall. As he replayed the memory in his head, he remembered a hint of another emotion swirling around them during their last kiss. Despair.  
  
“Fenris!” he called out, but of course there was no answer.  
  
Hawke had seen a flash of the Blade of Mercy as he fell backward through the mirror.  
  
No, not fell. Fenris pushed him, and pulled the blade in the same motion. Hawke’s worst fear, the one he had fought so hard to prevent, had come to fruition as Fenris shattered the mirror.  
  
Fenris had sacrificed himself to save Hawke.  
  
“Fenris. Maker damn you. Now I have to find my way back to save you.” Hawke knelt before the broken Eluvian and shook his head. “True love doesn’t just come along every day, you know.”  
  
Gingerly, Hawke reached down and lifted a shard of the broken mirror, holding it up to the light. It shimmered with an iridescent glow in his hand, the colors dancing as he ran his finger over it. Merrill’s Eluvian had not done that.  
  
“Hello, you pretty thing. What makes you so special, hmm? Maybe you want to mend yourself so I can go rescue my one true love? Isn’t that how the stories go?”  
  
He experimentally held two pieces of glass together, but nothing happened.  
  
“Of course not. Right then. Just have to find another way.”  
  
He had to find another route. That meant getting to Lothering where, somewhere, Fenris lay sleeping, possibly dying.  
  
“Time to get moving. We’ll figure you out later.”  
  
Hawke stood gingerly. His whole body ached and it felt far too heavy, as if he had been floating in water for hours and hours and his body was no longer buoyant. He still wore his Champion’s armor, but it creaked and he sniffed himself tentatively.  
  
“Ugh. Worst than that walking corpse we found in Darktown. Who knew the Fade made you stink.”  
  
A few moments later he was steady on his feet at last and looked around. Something about the woods felt familiar, but he could not place it. As he was about to put the shard in his belt pouch for safe keeping, he noticed that the grass he could see through the glass had an odd glow to it.  
  
Holding the piece up to his eyes, the clearing around him pulsed lyrium blue, with a higher concentration leading across the clearing and eastward.  
  
“Stranger and stranger. Fenris needs to be here. Though I don’t know that any of this counts as any weirder than usual.”  
  
At the mention of his lover’s name, Hawke felt pulled in the same direction as the line of blue light. Something called to him through his very blood. The sensation was not dark, but one of love and longing. Fenris was still wearing the enchanted bracer Hawke had crafted for him. It was likely lit bright as a beacon right now, with a pull that strong.  
  
He had never told the warrior that the bracer worked both ways. Just as Fenris could track Hawke, the mage could keep track of his lover.  
  
Fenris was in deep trouble.  
  
“Coming, love.” Hawke spoke to the air. With no one else to talk to, it made some kind of internal sense. At least he had himself to keep entertained until he rescued Fenris. “I’ll find you and whisk you away to some other new threat to our lives. Won’t that be fun?”  
  
Pocketing the shard, Hawke strode off in the direction all signs pointed to, though he could feel a distinct weariness dragging on his bones. He stumbled after a few steps and had to sit down.  
  
He had no way of knowing how long he had been in the Fade, under Desire’s not-so-gentle care. Memories of half a lifetime spent with a fake version of Fenris still flashed through his mind. It was a glorified, perfected version of the man he loved. Long silken hair just right for tugging during epic love-making sessions, soft lips that would kiss, but never curse, a wicked grin, and lyrium markings that would pulse gently with every touch of Hawke’s fingers. The Fenris Desire gave him was little like the real thing, never arguing, never tired, never shy about letting Hawke touch him however he wanted.  
  
The image was Hawke’s design. A concentrated effort of will allowed him to be taken by the Demon with a very specific vision of his heart’s desire firmly planted in his mind. While he worked to escape the demon on his own, the Fade Fenris was different enough that Hawke was never truly lost in the vision of him, always aware that his time in the Fade was decidedly not confused with the real world.  
  
It had only been a matter of time and opportunity until Hawke could find a way to escape. He had not, however, been expecting to be freed by the real Fenris.  
  
“Ah, why didn’t you listen, you stubborn elf? I could have gotten out of there eventually. Instead, now I’m here and you’re there. Damn it all.”  
  
The thought was enough to drive Hawke back to his feet. The pull he felt would lead him to a road and to Lothering. If he was very, very lucky, it would get him there before Fenris… no, it would not do to think of such things. So long as there was still a pull on his blood, there was still a chance.  
  
While Hawke had anticipated a long walk out of the woods, he was certainly not going to complain when just an hour or so later he found himself looking in either direction down a well-kept road. He could even see a stone bridge in the distance.  
  
The whole area struck chords of memory through his mind, but the song was very old and vague. Hands on his hips as he thought, he turned when he saw a wagon coming towards him.  
  
The driver watched him nervously as he approached and Hawke was grateful for the moment that he did not have his staff. His armor was probably awful looking enough.  
  
The wagon the man drove was loaded down with barrels, the faint smell of apples wafting off of them. It was harvest time, then, and this man took his surplus on to a larger town to sell.  
  
Hawke had been gone for months. Fenris probably thought him dead all that time.  
  
He frowned at the thought. “Oh Fenris. I am sorry.”  
  
His mouth still turned down, Hawke called out as the wagon almost passed him by. “What’s the closest town?”  
  
“Redcliffe Village, is this way.” The driver indicated the direction he was headed. “I could give you a lift if you’d help me unload.”  
  
It said a lot for how things had changed in Ferelden if the man would take a stranger with him on trust alone, despite the fact that he wore bloody, ass-stinking armor and looked like Maker knew what.  
  
“Then Lothering is that way?” Hawke asked, pointing the other direction.  
  
The driver nodded.  
  
“Then I’ll be headed that way, but my thanks for the offer.”  
  
The driver nodded again and clucked at his mule to get it going again.  
  
Lothering was not that far. Hawke knew where he was now. A day or so of walking and he would be back where he started all those years ago. Before the Blight, before he was Champion… before Fenris and love and all that went with it.  
  
Fenris. In the Fade and all alone against two demons. He needed to get moving.  
  
There was a weakness in his knees, his muscles ached strangely. His body had atrophied, sapped of energy by the strange power of the Fade itself.  
  
“Say, friend!” he called out and the driver stopped once more as Hawke checked his pouch and smiled when it jingled a little. “Would you have some spare food for a traveler with gold?”  
  
As Hawke stepped out onto the road bound for Lothering, he munched on a fresh Fereldan apple, the like he had not tasted in many years. The urgency in his heart pushed him along. He would walk until he couldn’t take another step. Fenris needed him, and then together they would find out why Hawke had a lingering sensation that he no longer belonged in the real world.


	2. Being a pack rat has its benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! This took a little longer than I thought, but I found the thread! Next chapter won't take as long. Yay.
> 
> You might also want to go back and reread chapter 1. I made some fairly significant edits to bring it in line with this chapter, and the rest of the story that comes after. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!

It was going to take longer than Hawke would have liked to get to Lothering. The toll his time in the Fade had taken on his body was showing itself. Tired before it was even full sundown, he chose to use his remaining energy to build a little shelter and take stock of his assets.

Varric had placed the bulk of Hawke’s funds into secure investments. The dwarf had a better business mind than Hawke and he was much better at earning interest than the mage was at managing the Bone Pit. But then, Hawke himself would admit that pretty much anyone besides himself would be better at managing the mine. Well, once the dragons were cleared out, anyway. If Hawke had become good at anything, it was clearing out dragons.

With the Amell fortune tied up for safe keeping, Hawke carried little gold with him. It would be enough for now, but until he was able to get word back to Varric, he needed to be careful. Ten sovereigns, twenty silvers, and a good handful of coppers were all he had on him.

“Heh. Not even enough to get me onto the Deep Roads expedition.” Hawke chuckled to himself.

Pulling everything else out of his belt pouch he found he was both better and worse off than he thought. Unfortunately, there was no blanket or tent tucked into the small bag, though there was a handkerchief. Not quite the same, but useful nonetheless. He laid everything else onto it.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here on this glorious rescue mission, eh Fen? What miraculous little things do I have in here that will save your life?”

\- Money. “Well, there isn’t anything around to buy, but that will change once I get to Lothering.”

\- A blank piece of parchment. “Useless without quill and ink. Unless I use blood. Always an option, though I know it might make you a bit suspicious, eh?”

\- A small knife. “There, now I have a way to get my ‘ink’. I could also gut something if I managed to catch anything. But then, dragon killing skills and hunting skills… not quite the same thing as it turns out.”

\- A flint and steel. “Sadly, I’m not a dragon, but I am a mage. As worn out as I feel though, at least there will still be a small fire tonight.”

\- A set of brass knuckles. “Unless I’m going to punch a deer to death, useless for the moment. Though it could come in handy as a paperweight for that blood ink letter to whoever it is I need to write to that urgently.”

\- A piece of coral from the Wounded Coast. “We had just met. I picked this up during our first expedition hunting bandits together… you best be holding on, love. I’m coming for you.”

\- A gold tooth. “Found on the floor of the Hanged Man after a particularly fun night. Well, it had been fun for me. Aveline was less than pleased about covering up for us afterwards and you took a black eye. Neither of you spoke to me for a few days after.”

\- The shard of the Eluvian. “And then there is this little mystery.”

It sat there dormant except for when Hawke touched it. When he did, it glowed, that pretty iridescent swirling of colors that seemed to react to the magic in his blood. He felt a chill down his spine.

Turning the pouch inside out to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, he found a small, rounded piece of lyrium. It had been a gift from his mother, a small token when he earned back the Amell estate. It had been his father’s and it had a lovely little song to it. He took comfort in it after his mother died.

He held it to his ear now and heard only the faintest hint of a few notes. Pulling it away from his ear, he examined it closely. It still felt like lyrium, it didn’t not seemed changed in any way, but when he held it up again, he still could only barely make out its song.

There was something not quite right about his connection to the Fade now. It was both deeper and more expansive, but it was also more present, as if the Fade was a part of himself and not just someplace he visited.

“And the mystery gets deeper. Hmmm.”

Hawke sat for a while pondering the whole thing while he ate his humble dinner. Bread, some hard cheese, and another apple, did little to fill his stomach. Larger meals would come when he hit Lothering. He had learned the hard way not to assume food was going to be available easily between here and there.

When he was done eating, he stoked the fire back up. He did his best to get comfortable in the small bower he had hastily built before his legs grew too weary to hold him up.

As Hawke drifted off to sleep, he could hear someone calling to him, a woman with a far away voice. He tried to open his eyes and look around, listening closely, but he heard nothing unless he was drifting between wake and sleep.

The sound left him uncomfortable, but eventually his body took over from his mind and Hawke fell into a deep sleep.

As soon as he was completely unconscious, an image filled his vision. There was Fenris, handsome, brave Fenris, kneeling before Danarius and Hadriana, a chain around his neck. There was blood dripping from his markings, as if they had been rebranded anew. Hawke’s heart tried to climb out of his throat at the sight.

“Fenris!” he cried out. “Fenris! No! I’m coming! Just hang on!”

Hawke ran into the scene, throwing fireballs at the two Tevinter mages, but nothing happened. They did not even turn to acknowledge him. Neither did Fenris.

Hawke looked down at his hands, then threw another ball of flame at Danarius’s head. It went straight through the magister, but did not hit anything on the other side either.

Hawke was somehow a ghost inside the Fade.

Strolling up to Danarius, Hawke waved a hand in front of his face. When he tried to grab Fenris and run, his hand passed right through the elf. Even he showed no sign that he was aware of Hawke being there at all.

As Hawke stood there trying to decide what to do next and wondering if he was dreaming the way non-mages do, he heard barking far off in the distance. He couldn’t place the sound, but something about it was important. It sounded like a mabari search howl, used when the hounds were send off to track down a fugitive or missing child.

He turned on his heel in a circle, trying to place the sound, but it remained elusive. About to head off in the direction he was fairly sure he had come from, the barking stopped and the whole world began to dissolve into mist.

With a violent shake, Hawke woke up. He felt as if he had just hit the ground hard, the sensation jarring him awake.

He lay there for some time, flat on his back and looking up to see the full moon high over head. He would have sworn if asked that the sky had shifted ever so slightly from black to purple when he felt himself relax as he finally fell back to sleep.

He would need all the rest he could get. He had to free Fenris from two demons who wore the faces of two of the worst human beings Hawke had ever had the chance to meet.

And he had no idea how to do it.


	3. On the Road from Redcliffe

It was not yet full daylight when Hawke awoke, shivering in the late autumn Ferelden chill. He had not dreamt of Fenris, or anything else for that matter, since that nightmare vision. Fenris. With Danarius and Hadriana. The thought made him more angry than he had felt in a very long time. The feelings burned right through him like white-hot lightning.

“No. Just no. That I simply will not stand for.” 

He shook his head as he stood, getting his weary feet under himself. 

“I need to find my land legs. Isabela would be proud. Or, well, more likely she would rather be laughing her ass off at me right now, but it’s good to have a rich fantasy life, right?”

Ensuring the small fire he had built last night was well doused, Hawke took to the road again. 

The crisp smell of autumn leaves tickled his senses as he set a brisk pace. Though he hadn’t slept much, he felt considerably more well rested. The more he walked, the steadier he felt. And the angrier.

It was too much. They had come too far, Fenris had come too far, to be laid so low again. All their years together, and it still came down to fucking Danarius and the abominable Hadriana. It mattered little that this time they were demons wearing those faces. Hawke had never been sure they weren’t demons the first time around.

The very idea of Fenris going through that again made Hawke want to reach into the Void and pull his tormentors back out so he could kill them for Fenris all over again. The warrior had rightfully gotten the honors the first time. This time it would be Hawke’s turn.

The strong emotions that raged through his system triggered the beacon of Fenris’s enchanted gauntlet and Hawke could sense him again. The signal was from the same direction he was traveling, but it felt weaker. Fenris was losing ground in this realm, each hour tying his soul deeper and deeper to the Fade. 

“Next time, love, just bloody wait for me to come home to you.” 

Hawke sighed, the anger deflating with his worry as he picked up his pace again. His internal ranting had distracted him from his surroundings and he was almost too late to notice the small group of Grey Wardens coming his way. Wherever they travelled from, Hawke had no wish to have word of his return get back to Skyhold just yet. The world didn’t feel quite real enough for him to make any decisions about where he was headed next.

He managed to make his way into a small gully without being spotted and hid there, surrounded by a few bushes. As he watched from between a the branches, the Wardens came closer. They showed no sign that they had seen him and he relaxed a little more. As he did so, he felt something vibrating in his pouch. Reaching in, he pulled out the piece of Eluvian glass.

Curious, he held it closer to his face to get a good look at it and once more wondered why he could see a trail of blue leading toward his destination. The foot of one of the Wardens passed before him and it glowed red in the glass. Remaining quiet, but moving so he could hold the glass up a little higher, Hawke looked at the retreating backs of the Wardens through the glass. They all glowed a deep red, the color of old blood. It was the Blight, the taint he now knew that all Wardens carried. He could see it through the glass.

Once the group was out of earshot, Hawke replaced the glass in his pouch and took to the road again. Urgency drove him forward and he set a harder pace for himself that was probably healthy. Rest would come later, figuring out why he felt so detached from the world would come later. Right now all that mattered was getting to Fenris.

Hours passed and the road began to look more and more familiar. The first farm came into view, seemingly untouched by the Blight and the sight struck Hawke like a thunderbolt. It had been more than a decade since he had walked this road and memories began to flood through his mind.

Bethany and Carver chasing each other around the chicken coop. Mother pulling weeds in the kitchen garden. His father swinging a scythe through a field of wheat. They were good memories. The bad ones came as well, of course, they were easier to bring to mind, but the good ones kept surfacing.

Hawke remembered walking down this particular road with his father on a similar autumn day, all those many years ago. They were coming back from Redcliffe, the younger Hawke’s first trip to the larger village. Malcolm had bought him his first hard liquor in celebration and treated him more like a fellow farmer than a child in need of supervision.

On the road, they had talked quietly about magic and farming and girls and Garrett’s future. It was on the road back that Hawke had quietly, shyly, and with all the trust in his father he could muster, told him that perhaps he might like boys in the same way he liked girls. 

The elder Hawke was silent for a while after that, though he showed no sign of anger. After a time, he placed a hand on Garrett’s shoulder and made his position plain and clear.

“My boy, all I want for you in this life is for you to be safe and happy and well loved. It’s up to you to figure out how to make that happen and who your partner will be in all that.”

As Hawke moved closer to Lothering, he though of his father and Fenris and wondered what they would have thought of each other.


	4. A Ghost of You

When Hawke awoke before daybreak, he knew he had not dreamed, and yet he felt as if he had been visiting the Fade anyway. His body felt once more like it had when Fenris shoved him through the Eluvian. Light, weightless, and then as he came fully awake, a feeling of heaviness in every movement.

“I can’t be getting that old yet. I’ve only got a few grey hairs so far.”

Hawke grumbled to himself as he stood up and stretched. Having the foresight to do a little casting before he bedded down meant he had slept warm and comfortable and with little fear that something would catch him unawares in the night. Even without his staff, Hawke was a formidable mage.

Now it seemed this same magic had altered him somehow. His connection to the Fade felt almost palpable, as if it were a soap bubble just beyond his reach and if he were to put his hand out fast enough, he could rip a hole in the Veil. 

The thought was worrisome. Hawke never dwelled much on his power and what it could do beyond aiding his friends and others in need. Champion was a title laid upon him for one crazy, self-sacrificing act, but if anyone in Kirkwall had dug a little, they would have been disappointed. Hawke hadn’t defeated the Arishok to save Kirkwall. Okay, well maybe a little to save Kirkwall. He had mostly done it to save his friends, his chosen family. When the rest of his blood family had died or abandoned him for the hated Templars (thanks, Carver), his little crew of ne’er-do-wells stood by him.

They had helped him through his roughest moments. Dueling the Qunari leader was the least he could do to thank them. Especially after they had helped him defeat Corypheus. Or at least he thought they had done the job. 

The ancient magister had somehow managed to survive and that’s why they were all in this mess in the first place. First his father, and now Hawke himself, had dealt with the evil mage. Both, in the end, had failed. 

“Ah, Father, we weren’t meant to be heroes.” Hawke shook his head.

Corypheus would be defeated, but it would not be by a Hawke. The mage could see that now. He did the best he could, his father did the best he could. But the Inquisition was much better prepared than he and his merry band of misfits had ever been.

“The Inquisitor knows what she’s doing. And she’s got Varric on her side, so she’s in good company. Though she does have Cullen, too, so maybe it’s a toss up.”

As he picked up the road again and set a brisk pace, Hawke felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. There were people more equipped than he had ever been already dealing with the problem at hand. The mage rebellion may have started on his watch, but he and his companions were never meant for world-changing heroics. What happened in Kirkwall set off a fire that almost destroyed the world and them with it.

“Nope. It’s time to get back to just me and Fenris, taking on one group of slavers at a time.”

Hawke smiled at the thought. They had begun, ever so tentatively, to talk about settling down somewhere. Nowhere near past their prime, the last year or two had brought new aches and pains in joints that had taken more than their fair share of beatings. It occurred to Hawke that perhaps it would be best to stop before things got dangerous. Because of course Hawke never ever walked into danger unprepared. Not at all.

The road was quiet most of the day, any travelers passed him by with courteous, yet guarded, nods as they made their way toward Redcliffe. The later it got, the less likely it was that Hawke would encounter anyone. It would be foolish to set out from Lothering near dark only to stumble a few miles before having to make camp. 

“Speaking of fools.” Hawke thought to himself as the sky grew dark. It was only a few more hours until he would reach Lothering and he felt the drive to push through. The moon was full and there were only a few clouds in the sky. And Fenris would be in the village, hopefully ensconced in some inn, waiting for him to come to the rescue. He pressed on.

It was late when he arrive in Lothering. A few buildings were as he remembered, but much was newly built. As he quietly made his way in search of an inn that was not as close to the Chantry as the first one he found, he managed to get turned around twice and found himself back at the Chantry doors.

At last a glowing lantern led him to a small, but friendly looking inn. Fenris would have chosen this one, he had no doubt.

Ducking inside, Hawke found the common room empty and rang the small bell that sat upon the counter. He heard the scraping of chair legs from the back room and a moment later the innkeeper appeared. 

“I wonder,” Hawke asked, “if you’ve hosted an elf recently. White hair, rather tall for his race, large sword?”

The innkeeper nodded and Hawke’s heart swelled. 

“Yes, serrah. A week or so ago. Stayed the night, he did, and left the next day.”

Fenris wasn’t here. Maker damn him. 

“Do you know where he was headed?” 

Hawke was doing his best to stay calm, but if Fenris wasn’t here that meant he was out on the road somewhere. The pull on his blood told Hawke he had not passed him on the way he came. Where was he?

“Sorry, serrah, can’t say I do. Some of the boys dragged him into their Wicked Grace night. One of them might know. At least one or two stop by for breakfast, being widowers and all. You can ask them in the morning.”

Hawke nodded with a smile and paid for a room for the night. Fenris playing Wicked Grace with a bunch of Lothering farmers? Hawke would have paid good money to see such a thing.

As he climbed the stairs, he thought of Fenris making his own way up them. It felt as if the elf was a ghost he was following now, so sure he had been that he would find his lover here. Was it the same room he entered now that Fenris had stumbled into after a bit to much wine and a pleasant evening with new friends?

Taking off his armor for the first time since he had entered the Fade at Adamant proved to be more challenging than Hawke had anticipated. It was as if the metal had rusted itself to the leather and refused to let go. Peeling it off felt like he was removing an extra skin, a freeing act that did nothing to relieve his worry. He would much rather have had Fenris’s help with the task.

When he was free of the Champion mantle that hung upon him like a lead weight, Hawke cleaned up as best he could in the wash basin. He still reeked, but his bones were weary and his heart was full of worry and there was nothing more he could do that night about any of it. 

As he crawled into bed he wondered if it was his imagination or if the sheets somehow held the scent of Fenris.


	5. Random Acts of Kindness

A mountain fortress stood before him. Hawke turned, but could see little other than a the foothills and a vast wasteland out to the horizon. As he stood there, slowly realizing he was in the Fade, a cawing scream caught his attention over head. The sound was nothing like he had ever heard before, somewhat like an eagle but low, with a hint of a roar like the lion he had seen once when a troupe of entertainers visited the Viscount not long after Hawke had regained the Amell estate. 

He looked up at the sound and his eyes grew wide. A massive griffon flew over his head. It was then that he noticed the banners caught in the stiff breeze on the battlements high above. Wherever he was, it was nowhere that existed in the Thedas he knew.

“Hawke.” A woman’s voice called his name, echoing through the valley. He had heard the voice a few days earlier, beckoning him. It was a lovely, sad sound and he felt a pull on his magic, drawing him toward the fortress. 

A few more griffons flew over head as he made his way up the stone path that clung to the side of the mountain. Hawke could see people riding on their backs.

“Weisshaupt.” Hawke whispered the name with a hint of awe. As a child, he knew the next best thing to being a dragon would be the riding a griffon. And this fortress had once held the biggest roost of griffons in all of Thedas. Weisshaupt, headquarters of the Grey Wardens. 

He reached the top of the path and a courtyard opened up, finely carved directly from the mountain itself. The great gateway into the fortress stood before him, its doors open wide and beckoning. 

As Hawke moved toward it the doors slammed shut and the sky went dark. A green mist wrapped itself around the grand structure, sending a chill down Hawke’s spine. He felt himself pushed back toward wakefulness, but as he began to rouse, he heard the woman’s voice again, pleading this time.

“Hawke! Please!” 

He put a hand out, reaching toward the fortress, but a moment later he found himself wide awake, flat on his back in a room he vaguely remembered stumbling into the night before.

“Right another mystery to solve. Which usually ends in me and my friends covered in spider guts and wyvern shit. I just love that. It’s my favorite.”

Feeling less rested than he hoped, Hawke crawled out of bed, washed his face again, and gave his armor a quick wipe down before putting it on again. He knew he smelled awful, but Fenris was out there somewhere, his body alone and in the cold, his mind trapped with the demonic versions of Danarius and Hadriana. A bath could wait, especially if waiting meant there would be a certain elf warrior in it with him. Once he swooped in and rescued him like he planned to do.

The stairs creaked loudly as Hawke made his way down them and when he reached the bottom, he found more than a few of the diners’ faces looking to see who emerged. Upon seeing him and giving him a good once over, they all returned to their breakfasts except for one older man who beckoned to him. 

“Hello lad, care to join an old man for breakfast?”

The man looked familiar to Hawke, though he wasn’t sure of his name. He didn’t exactly want to be recognized, but unfortunately Fenris had chosen the one place in Ferelden besides Skyhold where that was a pretty good bet. He hadn’t even thought of that until this moment. 

Hawke nodded, sitting down as the man stuck a hand out. “Gregor, at your service, serrah. You look like a man who’s searching for something.”

Hawke shook the farmer’s hand and nodded again as the tavern girl, a blushing elf, brought tea and a tray laden with plates over to their table. Gregor passed some to Hawke who didn’t hesitate digging in, squeezing his answer in between bites.

“I’m looking for an elf. A very specific one, you see, not just any old elf. This one has white hair, white markings, possibly carrying a very large sword.”

Gregor nodded, smiling as he watched griddle cakes disappear rather quickly into Hawke’s mouth.

“Aye, I’ve seen him. He was here on our Wicked Grace night. Played a few rounds. Left the next day.”

Hawke raised his eyebrows. “The innkeeper said as much. Any idea where he was headed?”

Gregor nodded and Hawke held his breath. 

“Ostagar. Said he wanted to pay his respects.”

Hawke almost dropped his fork. Ostagar. That was another two days on foot.

“Did he take any gear with him, do you know?”

Gregor shook his head. “Camping things? Not that I know of. Had a pack with ‘im, and he took some food, far as I know. He’s a good lad.”

Gregor eyed Hawke. “You look worried, son.”

Hawke simply nodded, putting his fork down as he stood up. He reached into his pouch offering a coin to the older man.

“Thanks for the food and information. I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

The man waved him off. “No need. He’s a good lad, taught me a thing or two about Wicked Grace. I hope you find him safe.”

With a short nod of thanks, Hawke turned away.

He settled with the innkeeper, then spent the next hour dashing around the village to gear up. Still scant on coin, he was still able to procure enough food for the week and a few blankets and other essentials, along with a pack to carry the load.

Headed out of town, he was met by a group of local men. They all looked to be farmers, not a piece of armor among them. Still, they looked stern and Hawke was unsure of their intentions.

Gregor stepped to the front of the group and waved him down.

“You’re going to need a wagon if he’s ill. My horses are the best in the arling and can pull one right fast.”

Hawke smiled. He had almost forgotten the kindness that ran like a current through most farming towns. Mutual aid was part of what makes these communities thrive.

“I’ve no coin to repay you, gaffer,” he replied, “though I thank you for the offer.”

“No need to repay lad. We’re here to help.”

Hawke cocked his head to the side, just like his old mabari used to. “I… am not sure what I did to earn your help, but thank you?” 

The old man chuckled, approaching Hawke as the rest turned to make final preparations for the journey.

“Of course we would help you, lad. You might have become a fancy mage and the Champion of Kirkwall and all that, but you’ll always be Malcolm Hawke’s boy.”

Hawke’s mouth dropped open. “Then… then you all knew. You know who I am. You knew who Fenris is. My family… my father?”

Gregor clapped his gnarled hand on Hawke’s shoulder and shook his head.

“Do you really think the Templars are that stupid? No, lad, we all liked your father. He was a good man.”

Hawke’s mouth hung open, slowly lifting to a smile, then turning into a full-bellied laugh. 

When the laughter had passed he smiled at the men arrayed before him, all ready to set out on a rescue mission for an elf they hardly knew. 

“Well then, if you’re done laughing at the stuffy old Templars…” Gregor smiled at him. 

Hawke nodded, setting his pack in the wagon as Gregor climbed into the seat, clucking at the horses. They set off together and the road to Ostagar, with Fenris waiting for him at the end, felt a little less lonely and a little more hopeful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! Life is definitely getting in the way lately. Hopefully the rest of this tale will take less time to manifest. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	6. Not Fade Away

The group set a hard pace, moving as quickly as they could without wearing the horses out. They made good time and the three day march was slowly whittling down into a two day cart ride.

A few would walk for a while, particularly Hawke, who had stamina to burn and a nervous energy that would not be sated by sitting in a wagon. When the cart would stop periodically, Hawke kept moving, passing them by and then riding for a while when the cart caught up to him. 

He only rode when his feet hurt or when Gregor called him up onto the cart to keep him company, which Hawke suspected was for his own good as well as the older man’s. 

It was when he was far apace of the group that he would pause occasionally, clear his mind, and test the pull on his blood. Fenris. Out there in the wilderness somewhere. At least he had a mabari with him. Frost. Perfect name. 

“Leave it to you, love, to name a dog after something that vexes you.”

Winter did come on much harsher in Ferelden than anywhere in the Free Marches, never mind Tevinter. And Fenris was particularly testy about the cold, though he did rather enjoy that snowball fight last winter, once he warmed to it.

“One day I’ll turn around and we’ll have a pack of dogs named Danarius, Mage, and Hightown Noble.”

Hawke was grinning to himself, but the smile fell into a deep frown when he noticed that the pull toward the bracer on Fenris’s wrist had lost potency. It was still coming from the same direction, but it was not moving and it lacked the vitality it did the day before. 

Hope was still full in his heart when the rescue mission had left Lothering. Hawke had chalked up the weak signal as distraction and worry on his part. Now it seemed he had been plenty focused and the weakness was caused by Fenris’s rapidly draining health. 

The end of the first day arrived as they walked almost until it was too late to set up camp properly. Darkness had already fallen when the fire at the center of their camp lit up the night. 

After a simple supper, they all chatted a bit, filling Hawke in on who had come back after the Blight was done, who married whom, and other goings on in the village. 

“And we heard about you becoming Champion of course. We don’t need much filling in on that one.”

The others all laughed and clapped him on the back. 

“There are some pretty wild stories about you, lad. Any chance they’re true?”

Hawke smirked. “A few, bits and pieces of most. There are one or two that are completely false, but you’ll never get me to tell you which ones.”

One of the men laughed and called out “The one where you went on a wyvern hunt?”

The others all chanted in unison. “It seems the Duke has fallen from grace.”

Hawke put his head in his hands and laughed. “That one… is entirely true.”

This garnered a round of laughter that still lingered even as they rose and began laying out bedrolls. 

It was going to be a cold night and Hawke ached at the thought of Fenris out in the weather, alone. He cast a few wards and made sure each of his traveling companions had a warmed stone by their feet, one that was enchanted to stay warm through the chilly night to come. 

Hawke bedded down but found he had trouble getting to sleep. Thoughts of Fenris drifted through his mind and he half thought it might be a good idea to get up and use a torch to light his path. There weren’t any great crevices in the area that he would fall into. And yet, stumbling through the dark didn’t sound like the most efficient use of his time. 

Exhaustion from worry and the hard pace of the day finally took their toll and Hawke fell into a fitful sleep. He did not pass into the Fade, in fact it still seemed there was a barrier like a bubble holding him out. Tendrils of the Fade reached out to brush against him, sending him images from his time spent there. Fenris, the dream version of the warrior, reached out to him, long hair loose and inviting, a warm and gentle smile graced his lips, the like Hawke had never seen on the real elf.

Rolling over on the hard ground, Hawke awoke and felt a constriction in his chest. The shard of the eluvian was humming wildly, and the pull on his blood was brighter than it had been in days. 

Either Fenris was back in the real world or something was dreadfully wrong. 

Rising swiftly, Hawke strode off into the woods, following the sound of a song he could only hear with his heart and soul, rather than his ears.

A small clearing, lit by dim moonlight, opened up not far into the woods. Hawke stood there listening, but the song had become silent. He reached into his pouch and pulled out the shard of the eluvian. It glowed dimly, not reflecting the moon, but emitting its own subtle green light.

Something clicked over in Hawke’s magic. He felt a new sensation of power flood through him briefly before banking back down and for a moment everything around him appeared in double vision. There were two worlds overlapping, one the regular world he was used to living in, and the other a twisted, green lyrium-infused vision of the Fade layered on top of it.

Hawke blinked a few times, trying to figure out what he was looking at and what it might mean.

“Ah yes, out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seems.”

Hawke put his hand up, holding the shard out in front of him. He made a long, downward cutting motion in the air in front of him, opening a rip in the Veil.

“Well, that’s exciting and new. And not at all a bad thing whatsoever. Just a little rift in the Fade. I’m sure the Inquisitor would be just thrilled to know I can do that.”

The connection to the bracer still on Fenris’s wrist felt odd, as if it was coming from both places at the same time. 

“Time to sort out another mystery and get my favorite elvhen warrior back.”

With a set of his shoulders, Hawke stepped through the newly created cut in the Fade.

This was not the same as going physically into the Fade as he had done with the Inquisitor. It felt, too real and yet not real at all. There was blackness all around him at first, but he kept walking. There was a point of light in the distance, the only visible thing as far as the eye could see and the only real confirmation that Hawke could see anything at all.

He had been walking for a while when the light began to expand rapidly. Almost like a curtain lifting on a stage, a city came into view. Stone columns, beautiful carvings, warm, bright sunlight, all came into focus. Hawke had no idea where this was supposed to be. Well, until he saw the tall pen standing to the side of the street. 

It was full of elves in chains.

He was in Tevinter, or at least the Fade version. And if the pen of slaves was any indication, he was in something like Fenris’s nightmares. 

Hoping to get his bearings, Hawke began walking down the street. There were beautiful open courtyards lined with vendors, gorgeously tanned people with magic practically sparking from their fingertips, and the stench and stink of the huddled slaves, working themselves to the bone under the yoke of their masters.

Hawke turned a corner and found himself at the edge of a wide plaza. He scanned it for a few moments, noting the four other streets that met here in the center. As he did so, he spotted a very familiar head of white hair in the distance. Hawke’s heart stopped, clenching when he saw his love.

Fenris. In chains. With Danarius and Hadriana on either side of him.

Hawke snapped. Any illusion of control he had before gone in an instant. All of his fears bleeding out in the path of the white hot rage that now filled him.

He did not even yell a warning when he began his charge at the two demons who held the warrior captive. He simply took off at a run, concern for his own well-being lost in his need to reach Fenris.

Hawke raised his hands. Staff? Who needs a staff? Not Hawke. He ran full tilt at the demons, fireballs forming in his palms.

And then the entire scene froze in front of him and he found he could not move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo sorry this took so long to get to you all. I'm hoping to have the rest of this tale wrapped up sooner rather than later. Not sure why, but I've been a little blocked writing Hawke. Fenris is so much easier for me to write for some reason. 
> 
> Ah well, hope you enjoy the chapter, dears! And I'll try and get you a new one soon. I'm not one to leave unfinished fics, so come hell or high water, this will get done. :)


	7. Spirits in the Material World

The moment was frozen in time and Hawke struggled to free himself. If he could just move again, he would be able to snatch Fenris from the demons’ hold and escape back through the rent he had made in the Fade. But he could not move except to blink or swallow. All around him, Minrathous was still, water bubbling from the fountain suspended in air, the people paused in action. 

“Right. Because this makes total sense. Ah, you’ve gotta love the Fade. If it’s not trying to kill you, it’s fucking with your head.”

Hawke’s thoughts raced around while his body could not. He strained his muscles, though at least he maintained the presence of mind to keep from fatiguing himself. When he got free he was going to get to kill Danarius and Hadriana. It was rather an exciting prospect and not one he was willing to give up on so easily.

He felt a pressure on his mind then, gentle, but insistent, and a voice spoke to him. He had heard it before, in his vision of Weisshaupt.

“You cannot defeat them on your own, not like this. You are not fully within the Fade, you have no power over them. But I can help you. I can give you a tool to free him.” 

While Hawke’s arms and legs would not move, he found that he could open his mouth and speak and he could move his head a little. He used the only tool he had at his disposal then. He just hoped that, whoever this spirit was, they were susceptible to his charms. 

“Hello there. I must say, you have a lovely voice. Any chance you’ve got the a body to match? I’m just dying to see you for myself.”

A woman appeared then, as if she stepped directly from the Void. She was lovely, with long dark hair that hung past her waist and a familiar gleam in her eye, one that Hawke saw every time he looked in the mirror.

The woman smiled at his look of surprise. “Child, you would talk so to your elders? What has become of the Amell bloodline that such a cheeky one as you is drawn to aid me?”

Hawke fell silent. Amell. She had called herself an Amell. Something about her whispered of power and a deep well of magic that gave Hawke pause. 

“I’m… I’m Garrett Hawke. My mother was an Amell.” 

She smiled, hands folded before her. “Sons of the Amell women have often been thus. Far too charming for their own good, yet strong-headed and powerful. For you are powerful, even if you do not know it.”

Hawke frowned, nodding, but remaining uncharacteristically silent in her presence. This woman, this spirit from whom he was descended who knows how long ago, was a complete mystery and her power flexed and shimmered over her form as she paced before him. It was old, well-cultivated, and yet somehow tamped down, as if part of her were somewhere else at the same time she was here with him.

She nodded with sympathy. “Ah, you have seen trials already then. Tested and rose a victor, by the look of you. That is no ordinary mantle upon your shoulders.”

Yes, he had seen trials. At this point, it was all almost too much. Kirkwall, Corypheus, Nightmare, and now this. Why did everyone come to him for aid? He was no chosen one. Why did it always fall on his shoulders, broad as they may be? It would all drive him mad some day and who then would pick up the pieces when Hawke shattered? But that was a question for another day. As were the questions of who this woman was and why she was helping him. 

Right now all that really mattered was getting free and rescuing Fenris. Time was slipping away.

“You said something about a tool, something to help me free Fenris.” 

Hawke used his best “talking to a respected elder” voice and a smirk passed over the woman’s face. 

“I do indeed have something for you. And you have asked politely, after all. In exchange you must promise to come to me. It will not be of my doing, but you will not fully find rest until you do.” 

Hawke sighed and would have slouched his shoulders if he could move them. “I rest poorly as it is anyway. Any chance I can get a straight answer if I ask why me and why I need to come find you? I’m guessing you’re the one that’s pulling me toward Weisshaupt.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, I am reaching out from the old fortress. You must trust that it is for the good of all that I do this. I would ask another if I had any other choice.”

Hawke rolled his eyes. “You’re not the first to ask me for help. Why does it always sound like I’m being set up to fail?”

“It is not always so.” She shook her head and gave him a sympathetic frown. “It is simply that what I ask is a burden and were there another way, I would take it. Do not doubt that others care for your well being, Garrett Hawke.”

The woman smiled, a gentle uplift at the corners of her mouth. “There are others that care for you and your love as well. One special creature in particular has come to help you.”

There was a bark behind Hawke. He could turn his head now and was able to catch a glimpse of a furry streak flying by before Frost came to a stop in front of him, bouncing around him before coming to a halt by the lady’s feet, her tongue lolling from her panting mouth.

“This one is more than she seems,” the lady told him, kneeling to pet Frost’s head. “She will guide you to your love, though she is not really here for you, but him instead.”

“For Fenris? But what does he have to do with any of this?” Hawke asked. 

The woman did not reply. Standing, she held out a hand. A staff appeared, forming from nothing until it was solid in her hand. It was only partially completed by the looks of it, its rough handle had a space for a blade at the bottom. She beckoned to Hawke with it and he found that he could move again, though the scene around him remained locked in time.

“Let me guess. You’re not answering my question because you either don’t know the answer or this little adventure is going to lead us, and Fenris particularly, down some really dangerous roads.”

Saying nothing, the woman put her empty hand out. Hawke sighed, pulling the shard of the eluvian from his pouch and handing it to her. She inserted the shard into a notch at the end of the humble staff before casting a glowing spell over it. The shard was now encased in some sort of protective barrier and Hawke suspected it was no longer fragile, breakable glass. The other end was no subtle thing either, a clear bulb that appeared to be some sort of crystal, encasing a faceted piece of pure lyrium. The stone did not sing for him here.

“It is a tool of the Fade,” the woman told him. “You will need this to free your love and to make your way to me, when the time comes.”

Hawke nodded, shaking his head, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “As you will, my lady.”

She surprised him then, laughing and reaching out to pinch his cheek. “That’s a good lad. I look forward to our next meeting, Garrett Hawke. And perhaps you shall be a little less awed of me then and a little more bold of tongue. It has been some time since I have had a good laugh.”

Hawke scoffed but smirked as she faded from sight. When she was gone, movement all around Hawke began to flow once more. He looked down at Frost, whose hackles were up, her teeth bared, her eyes fixed on the far side of the plaza. Hawke followed her line of sight. She was focused on Fenris, only steps away now. Both mabari and mage were itching for this particular fight.

They were still in the Fade, though compared to what he had just been through, the finely cut stone beneath Hawke’s feet felt pretty damn real. He adjusted his grip on the staff in his hand. It vibrated in a way no other staff he had held did, all clean and powerful and bright. No other mage had ever touched it. It was the first staff he felt he could truly call his own. To be the first mage to wield such a thing… there was great power in that.

Hawke already knew the first thing he was going to do with this bright and shining new tool.

With an angry smirk spread across his lips and a nod to Frost, Hawke raised his new staff and charged at the demons that dared keep Fenris in chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so this chapter did not go how I was expecting at all. But I'm really pleased with it? 
> 
> There's a LOT in here that is building towards the next installment of the series, please forgive me. I'm as intrigued as you are because I haven't really started plotting that out yet. I just have hints of where it's going. 
> 
> But I digress.
> 
> I'm hoping the last chapter (or two!) goes more smoothly, and more quickly. I really want to finish it up for you all. 
> 
> But Frost is back! I love writing her. I hope you all enjoy her, too. She's special.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and your comments and your kudos. They mean the world to me.


	8. Do Town a Bright Flash

As Hawke ran towards Fenris, he could see the glazed look in the warrior’s eyes. The elf drew his massive Blade of Mercy as Hawke and Frost began their attack, and the sight of his love defending the demon who wore the form of his former master broke Hawke’s heart. 

“Danarius better be rotting in the Void. Wonder if I can get to the Void and back before breakfast to be sure.” Hawke’s jaw was going to be sore before long if he kept gritting his teeth in anger like this.

Frost leapt ahead of him and bounded at Fenris just as the elf swung his blade. Hawke’s breath caught in his throat, unable to stop Fenris from attacking Frost. But the mabari knew what she was doing, deftly dodging the blade. Paws up on Fenris’s chest, she pushed him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him, and sat on him, panting. 

Fenris struggled under her once he regained his breath and Hawke ran up as he was beginning to glow. He would phase through Frost and be back on his feet in a moment. Hawke needed to act quickly to free him from the demons’ thrall. The staff in Hawke’s hand vibrated a little as Fenris’s markings lit up. Crashing to his knees next to his love, Hawke closed his eyes and focused. He leaned over, wanting to just take Fenris into his arms, but instead gave him a brief warning.

“I am sorry, love, but I have do to this. Just hang on,” he told the elf before reaching down and taking Fenris’s hand in his own.

They had only done this a few times, in direst circumstances, because Hawke knew how much Fenris hated it. But this was about as dire as things could get and there was simply no time and no way to get Fenris’s consent. Hawke began to pull on the lyrium burned into Fenris’s skin.

When they had used Fenris’s lyrium in the past, it had lit up a little, Hawke had syphoned enough power to cast whatever devastating spell was required to get them to safety, and that had been the end of that. 

This was different. 

The markings grew brighter and brighter and Hawke could feel the power in them vibrating in tune with the lyrium crystal at the end of his staff. Fenris did not appear to be in any pain, in fact the furrow in his brow smoothed out, easing Hawke’s worries. Still, as the markings became glaringly bright, Hawke found he was unable to pull back. The newly made staff was acting as a conduit for the power flowing between them, keeping the build slow and gentle. Something about it felt natural, even though Hawke knew it should not.

He wondered briefly why he was still unable to hear the lyrium singing. It should be a loud chorus in his mind with how brightly Fenris was lit, but all he heard was the approach of the demons. Just as he was becoming concerned at how close they were getting, an explosion knocked Hawke back from Fenris, blinding him for a moment with its brightness.

A connection remained between Hawke, the staff, and the lyrium in Fenris’s markings. Hawke cast a barrier around himself, Fenris and Frost so he could get his bearings. It was hastily cast and wouldn’t hold for long, but Hawke didn’t need much time. Years of experience allowed him to recover quickly, while also making a plan. Well, or at least figuring out a next step. 

“Frost?” he called to the mabari. “Ever taken down a demon?”

The dog got off of Fenris’s chest and came to Hawke’s side. She gave him a quick bark before her hackles were back up, a growl in her throat aimed at the demons currently banging fairly effectively against Hawke’s barrier. It was starting to show gaps in its power.

“Good dog.” Hawke smiled at her, the smallest twinge of loss in his heart. Dragon had loved killing demons. 

A moment later, the demons crashed through, Hawke and Frost were braced and ready, blocking their path to Fenris. 

Hawke fell silent now. Desire had already bested him once, and Despair was a nasty piece of work. He fell into a special kind of focus that came on when things got bad. No quips, no chit chat with his companions, just Hawke, casting spells one after the other, gently pulling on the lyrium resource that was Fenris laying behind him. 

Each of his spells hit home, knocking the demon target back a step, interrupting their counter spells, and even singing or freezing parts of them with a level of power that Hawke had never had access to before. Hawke made a note to offer his ancestor rare flowers and Orlesian silks and a million other gifts if he ever saw her again. 

Frost, for her part, was barking madly, charging at the demons and harrying their progress before retreating to a safer distance at Hawke’s side. She dodged his fireballs as deftly as Dragon ever did and if Hawke wasn’t so busy casting everything he could think of at the two advancing demons, he would have been impressed. 

As he worked, wearing the demons down bit by bit and slowing their advance with fire and ice and sheer force of will, the tip of his new staff glowed brighter and brighter with each spell he cast. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Hawke grunted out, shaking his head at the staff he held in his hands. 

It was vibrating hard enough that his hands were beginning to ache. Wherever this staff had been forged, it was surely intended to take out demons. 

Power flowed all around Hawke and Frost. It moved under them and through them, tendrils crossing between them and flowing backwards to Fenris, skimming over his markings and circling back around. 

The pulsing between the three of them moved faster and faster, the kinetic pace matching their movements, then their heartbeats pounding in their chests and then accelerating until it blended into a high-pitched buzz. 

When Frost began to whine and it felt as if it would pierce Hawke’s eardrums, the pulse gathered in the tip of the staff. 

There was a flash of light, brighter even than the one that had broken the spell the demons had over Fenris, and a backwash of heat that knocked Hawke and Frost off their feet. A great crack, like the sound of splitting timber, broke over them.

When the light returned to normal, or as normal as it was here, Minrathous was gone and they found themselves sitting in the raw material of the Fade. Two lumps sat some distance away, the smell of rot merged with the scent of roasting meet, wafting over to assault Hawke’s nose. 

The demons were dead.

“Fenris!” He called out, the sound tainted with fear.

Hawke was on his feet sooner than he should have been, but a few stumbling steps later and he was at his lover’s side.

Fenris had managed to prop himself up on his elbows during the battle, but his gaze wasn’t focused and he was sinking back down now. His eyes drifted closed. 

“Fenris?” Hawke called again, but the elf was fading, his form becoming insubstantial even as Hawke tried to wrap his arms around him.

Frost came to his side, but Hawke noticed that she, too, was beginning to Fade. 

“I’ll find you both. I’m coming!” he called to hear and she barked in reply, her tongue lolling from her mouth.

Hawke grabbed the staff and made his way back to the cut he had made in the Fade. It would have been difficult to find if not for the staff guiding him, pulsing like a divining rod as he searched for the opening, for he had arrived in a version of Minrathous and now had to navigate the raw material of the Fade. 

“You are a fancy thing now that you’re all grown up, eh little shard?”

The staff buzzed a little in his hands. “Shard? You like that?” It buzzed again.

“A sentient staff.” Hawke laughed as the adrenaline from the fight began to take its toll on his body. “Well that’s just ducky.”

The cut in the Fade remained open and Hawke slipped through it. It was just coming on dawn in the real world, the sky already fading from purple to pink at the horizon. 

With a shrug, Hawke placed the tip of Shard at the top of the crack in the world and skimmed down the length. It healed instantly.

“Yup. Well, that’s one less thing I’ll have to tell anyone about.”

Aching down to his bones, Hawke turned and headed back to camp and his new friends. The bracer around Fenris’s wrist had pulsed strongly when Hawke had been with him in the Fade. Now that the mage was back in the world, there was only pale reflection of that feeling pinging through his blood. 

Fenris was out of time. Hawke started to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! 
> 
> Apologies again to those of you following along at home. This is taking me forever to write because I have to occasionally act like the adult I am.
> 
> Chapter title is from No Cities to Love by Sleater-Kinney. Yay!
> 
> Comments are life, m'dears. Thank you for yours and please let me know if you're digging this. :)


	9. I'll Be Your Shelter

The other men were breaking up camp when Hawke came crashing through the underbrush with his newly-acquired Shard strapped to his back.

“We have to… go… now…” 

Breathless, he came to a stop in front of Gregor, who put a hand up. 

“Calm yourself, lad. We’re almost packed up already. We thought you had taken off to find the elf on your own. Started getting worried.”

Hawke nodded, his lips a tight grimace. “He might not… we have to go. Now. Please.”

“Go lad, we’ll be right behind ye.” Gregor patted Hawke’s shoulder and nodded.

Grabbing a bag, loading it with food for the day and slinging a water pouch over his shoulder, Hawke set off as quickly as he was able. The men who traveled with him scurried around camp packing up as well. The sound of their chatter faded as Hawke made his way down the road. In the cold morning air, the pull on his blood was weaker than ever.

The King’s Road was not the well-kept path it had once been here, but bits and pieces of memory surfaced in Hawke’s mind as he half ran, half walked toward Ostagar.

Carver and Aveline both had almost died there. Before that, the Hawkes had visited a few times, lead by Malcolm Hawke as he taught his children the history of the area and of the Chasind that were once held back by the fortress’s inhabitants. 

A memory of his father surfaced. The elder Hawke holding onto him as a young Garrett balanced on an ancient stone banister, looking out over the vast Kocari Wilds. 

It had seemed magical at the time and Hawke had been awed by the sight, wondering if he would ever get the chance to travel to the far away place he saw on the horizon. When the time came, his own journey skirting the edges of the Wilds had been much less majestic and considerably more dangerous. 

The morning passed with no sign of anyone, friend or foe, crossing Hawke’s path. He stopped briefly to break his fast, having otherwise paused only to sip at some water all morning. He looked back up the road, and by the time he was ready to continue, he could just make out the sight of his new Lothering friends coming up behind him. 

Hawke sighed and started stashing his food back in his bag. “Shit. I’m getting slow in my old age. I’m coming, Fen. I’m coming.”

The mage was back on the road before he could make out his companion’s features in the distance. 

The sun shifted as the afternoon went on. Hawke paused every so often, focusing his attention on the pull in his blood. It was so faint now he had to quiet his whole being down in order to hear it. His heart beat so loudly he almost missed it.

As he concentrated, making certain he was on the correct path and not wandering too far and wasting time, he heard pounding feet coming towards him from further down the road.

When he opened his eyes, there was a mabari charging at him. He reached for Shard on his back, but paused when he noted the whipping tail and uncut, white-tipped ears of the massive dog that approached. 

“Frost?” he called out and she barked in return.

She ran straight at him, putting her front paws on his shoulders and almost knocking him over. But he was accustomed to mabari greetings and had already braced his legs. 

“Good to see you, too. And nice to meet you in the flesh.” Hawke greeted her.

She barked again, right in his face, and immediately dropped back down and circled behind him, nudging him down the road with her head.

“Fenris is in bad shape, isn’t he?” Hawke asked, concern palpable on his tongue as he asked.

Frost didn’t respond. No barking, no growling, just an incessant pushing back toward where she had come from.

“I can run, Frost. Lead me to him. I’ll try and keep up.”

It was only another hour until the pair reached the bone-white remains of Ostagar. Frost led Hawke unerringly through the twisting maze of broken stone and abandoned corridors. They came upon a spare copse of trees and it was here that she finally slowed her pace, stopping at a tent frame that had been layered with branches to form a makeshift shelter. 

Hawke could see the gleam of Fenris’s white hair through a narrow opening.

“Fenris!” he called out, but there was no answer. 

Ripping away the branches that had hopefully kept the bulk of the cold out, Hawke fell to his knees by Fenris’s side.

He reached out and touched the elf’s face, but got no response. Frost followed him in and took up a position at Fenris’s feet, laying over the lower part of his legs in an effort to share her warmth.

“Fenris?” Hawke called his name again and gave him a little shake. “Fen?”

No response. 

With shaking hands, Hawke checked for a pulse, for breath, and found neither. 

“Oh Maker. Fenris. Shit."

There was some basic first aid that his father had taught him years ago. He had used it once or twice on his companions over the years and the skills came back to him now. He began to pump Fenris’s chest, occasionally pausing to force breath into his lungs.

Push, push, push, he pumped over and over, keeping count in his head as he did so. Breath. Breath. The pattern kept him focused, kept him from panicking. 

It wasn’t working, but Hawke did not stop. Not yet. He would not give up this easily. Fenris’s body felt so very cold under his bare hands.

A moment later, he realized Frost was whining, looking at Shard. The staff glowed gently, pulsing in time with Hawke’s chest compressions. He paused ever so briefly, removing Shard from his back and laying it across Fenris’s legs, right in front of Frost. 

Without hesitation, she grabbed the staff in her mouth and Hawke watched helplessly as her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed across Fenris’s feet. 

“Frost! Oh, Maker.” 

There was a burning feeling in Hawke’s eyes. This was too much to bear. He heard the cart and his new friends from Lothering arrive. What would he tell them? 

“Nope. Not yet. Not this time.” 

Hawke began his compressions anew, whispering softly to Fenris as he counted.

“It’s time to come home, wake up." 

A few more compressions, a couple of breaths. Frost was stirring.

"Come back, love. Please.” 

His voice desperate, near to cracking, Hawke did not stop.

Another round of compressions done, he bent down and started to blow into Fenris’s mouth again when a hand reached up and pushed back against him.

Hawke laughed, a few tears leaking from the corners of his mouth.

“Maker, I thought… you weren’t breathing, love. I don’t know for how long. You were so cold.” 

“I still am, Hawke.” Fenris’s voice was little more than a whisper, but it was definitely him. He was alive.

Hawke gave him a good once over now that he was sure Fenris was alive and breathing again. He had new clothes that fit him quite well and Hawke wondered what had happened to his old armor. This gear, though, was rather an improvement.

“Nice pants, by the way. And I love the boots. Very sexy.”  

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Hawke.” 

Hawke’s heart swelled. His love was right here. They were both whole and alive. “In fact, you… in this outfit… the whole package. Love it.” 

“Hawke.” Fenris could admonish him every day for the rest of their lives and Hawke would take it gladly. 

“I know. I’m rambling. Don’t care.” 

Fenris smiled weakly. “Hawke, please.” 

“See? There’s that lovely tone. A touch of love, a touch of exasperation. It’s how I know it’s really you and not… not that thing I was living with for however long Desire had her claws in me.” 

Hawke kissed him, a quick press of his lips. Fenris’s mouth burned icy cold. The Fade version of the elf was always warm, never argued with him, was always pliable and willing. It was a pretty picture, but it was not the real thing.

“Ah,” Fenris was hesitant, some weight seemed to lift off him. "So… it wasn't… you were… you desired…” 

Hawke grinned and shook his head. There was only one person for him. There had been ample opportunity to find a better match, but none held a candle to the surly, intelligent, brave elf he held now in his arms. 

“Of course it was you. What other heart’s desire do you think I’ve been harboring all these years?” 

Fenris smiled, teeth chattering together as he did so. 

“Your hair though…” Hawke’s voice softened. A calloused hand touched Fenris's head, running fingers along the close-cropped sides. 

“Cut it off.” Fenris grunted the words out between gasping breaths. He still felt so damn cold in Hawke’s arms, he could feel it through his clothes. His teeth were chattering so hard he had trouble speaking. "Hunting slavers for Aveline. Was more practical.” 

Fenris’s hair had started to get a bit long before Hawke left. It wasn’t practical for a warrior, but things had been mostly quiet for them for a while. Then Varric’s letter had arrived and Fenris went to hunt slavers and became a warrior once more. It was now shorter even than when they had first met. 

“I love that, too. Your Fade self had all this long silky stuff. It kind of got in the way. Though it was a bit fun to pull when…” 

“Hawke. I don’t need the details.” 

Hawke chuckled. There were memories from the Fade, dark, hot, intense, that he did not wish to get jumbled up with this true thing he had in the waking world. He cleared his mind of them to focus on the task at hand. “Right. Let’s get you warm.”  

“Indeed. And Hawke?” Fenris had a wistful look on his face, unshed tears making his eyes look glassy in the cold light.

“Hmm?” Hawke pulled him closer, so he did not have to strain to much to talk.

“I am… glad you’re not dead." 

That brought a big grin to Hawke’s face. “Me, too!" 

Rocks warmed at the fire their friends had started, along with Hawke’s own warmth and Frost’s trusty attentions, slowly brought Fenris’s body temperature back up. Hawke plied him with warm tea next and some soup which he sipped at slowly. After stubbornly making his way out of the makeshift shelter on his own, Fenris was loaded into the cart for the journey back to Lothering.

Hawke rode with him much of the way back. He held him when the nerve endings along his skin woke back up and the aching was so bad he broke into a sweat. Fenris was quietly tough, as he had always been. Even now his ingrained training took hold, and he did not so much as whimper.

Hawke gave him Elfroot potions when he was awake and simply held him when he was not. Anders, for all his faults, had been a masterful healer and one of the things he advised was that the body should be allowed to heal on its own when possible. The method had served them well in their time in Kirkwall and so Hawke knew there would be a recovery period for both of them when they got to Lothering. He had not taken the time to rest himself after his ordeal in the Fade. His body ached in strange ways now that he paid it some attention and he felt drained in his mind and heart as well as his body.

Fenris would have questions that Hawke was not sure he was ready to answer. Shard buzzed quietly on his back as if to remind him constantly of its presence and the task he had before him, though he did not know yet what that was exactly. The journey to Weisshaupt was yet to come and he was unsure what that mission would mean for himself and Fenris and Frost if she stayed with them, though there was little doubt she would. The mabari had barely left Fenris’s side since he found the pair.

Looking down at Fenris as he walked along next to the cart, Hawke was filled with a sense of relief. Frost lay next to the warrior as he slept, kept safe from an unintended visit to the Fade through a sleeping potion. This mad elf had done exactly what Hawke had tried to prevent and they were damned lucky to still be alive, never mind together and mostly whole.

Hawke held a hand up and flexed his fingers. Something tingled under the surface of his skin now and the lyrium still did not sing to him as it once did. Fenris was not the only one who would wish to seek answers to his questions.

But for now, Lothering and that lovely warm inn came into sight as they made a turn in the road. They were home.

“Hawke?” Fenris called out for him, his voice still a hoarse croak. 

“Yes, love, I’m here. We’re here. You’re safe, and we’re together.” Hawke reassured him as he had each time Fenris had awoken.

He wasn’t one to pray to the Maker, wasn’t even sure what he believed anymore after all they had been through, but he sent out a prayer of gratitude now, to anyone that was listening. 

Reaching over the side of the cart, he took Fenris’s hand and gave it a kiss. The elf smiled, his grin still fragile along with the rest of him. Winter would settle over Lothering soon. So, for now, it was time for Fenris and Hawke to rest.

  


_Fenris, Hawke, and Frost will return in “The Secret at Weisshaupt”._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it! The end! Well, for now anyway. Sorry it took so long to get here for those who've been following along. Life happens, you know? But in some corners of the internet, Fenhawke week is wrapping up and I just couldn't let it go by without finishing this off with a flourish.
> 
> It will be a little while yet, but as you can see by the last line, there is a final part to this unintended trilogy yet to come. Now that I've got both Fenris's and Hawke's sides of this story told, it's time to send them, and Frost, on another adventure. But that will take some planning. The pieces are all there, but they don't fit yet. I guess subscribe to my stuff if you want to know when it starts going live? 
> 
> Until then, I'll definitely be writing a few smaller works, so if you do follow me, I'll make it worth it. :)
> 
> Thank you all for reading this. Seeing those kudos, comments, and bookmarks really lifts my spirits when things get rough. You all are awesome.


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